


Play Me (A Love Song)

by EmeraldAshes



Series: College DJ Evan Hansen [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Broadway References, College Radio, Fluff, M/M, Murphy Sibling Bonding, Sibling Bonding, The Insanely Cool Jared Kleinman, Zoe does not put up with your middle school crush BS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 13:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11852655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldAshes/pseuds/EmeraldAshes
Summary: “This is like the third week in a row you’ve listened to this guy’s show, and you get all smiley every time he starts rambling,” Zoe said. “It’s like a celebrity crush, just that he’s not a celebrity and he goes to our college. So you should totally meet him and ask him out.”In which ball-of-anxiety Evan Hansen hosts a Broadway-themed college radio show and Connor Murphy is his biggest fan.





	Play Me (A Love Song)

“A-and that was ‘Land of Lola’ sung by Billy Porter. Before, um, well, before that you heard ‘Just Another Day’ from Next to Normal, and you probably noticed that it went quiet for seven seconds. S-sorry about that. I just…there’s cursing in that song. There’s c-cursing in a _lot_ of my songs, a-actually, which you wouldn’t think because they’re mostly _showtunes_. But anyway, uh, I censored it and everything, but maybe not that well? I heard a ‘shh’ sound, and I’m p-pretty sure that can get us fined $5,000 dollars.”

Zoe turned the stove off and swung her pan of yellow rice onto a cooled burner. As she scooped some into a bowl, she said, “I don’t know how you can listen to that.”

Connor, sitting on the couch of the small apartment they shared, said, “I thought you liked musicals.”

Zoe waved with her spoon, a few grains of rice falling to the floor. “I do, but the DJ seems so nervous all the time. It’s like he’s having a mental breakdown or something. Doesn’t that stress you out?”

“He calms down toward the end of the show.”

Zoe continued, “And since when do you like musicals?”

Connor shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “It’s…recent.”

Zoe sat on the couch’s arm, rice bowl in hand. “It’s cliché.”

He smirked. “Is that a gay joke?”

“Yep,” Zoe chirped. “Speaking of, you obviously have a crush on this guy.”

“ _What?”_ Connor choked.

Zoe nudged him with her foot. “This is like the third week in a row you’ve listened to his show, and you get all smiley every time he starts rambling. It’s like a celebrity crush, just that he’s not a celebrity and he goes to our college. So you should totally meet him and ask him out.”

“You’re assuming he’s gay.”

“It’s cliché for a reason, dude,” Zoe mumbled through a mouthful of rice.

Connor fell silent for a moment, the only sound his tapping against the pleather couch to the beat of the song playing. “I don’t even know his name. He just calls himself ‘E.’”

“It can’t be that hard to figure out. He’s in an official club. You could go to the meeting and listen for his voice.”

Connor scowled. “So your suggestion is that I stalk him?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s only stalking after he asks you to stop.” Zoe grinned at him through a mouthful of rice.

“You’re gross,” he grumbled.

Zoe hummed happily, listening to the last strains of the song die out.

“E” was rambling again. “…from, um, from Joseph and the Technicolor D-Dreamcoat, which was a request from my mom…Oh God, why did I say that? A-anyway, Alana, who’s our social media director, is in the room right now.”

“Hi!” a woman’s voice said. “It’s very nice to be here on the show of such a good acquaintance.”

“It’s, um, it’s k-kind of distracting having her here, honestly, but she said that I should tell you guys about my t-twitter? Right now the only person who’s, uh, who’s following it is my mom, and I think she started an account just to do that. So…yeah.”

“Tell them your handle,” Alana prompted.

“Oh! Right. I’m…at symbol, ShowTuneItUp, I think?”

“That’s correct,” the woman gushed.

Connor growled. “What is she, a fucking kindergarten teacher?”

Zoe shushed him.

The DJ continued, “So, um, you can always ch-check me out there, if you want.”

Zoe poked Connor’s arm. “You should totally tweet at him.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “No.”

Zoe snagged Connor’s phone from the couch cushion, casually typed in the code, and opened up Twitter. “Okay, fine. I’ll write something…How about, ‘Hi! I’m Connor, and I’m your BIGGEST fan.’”

Connor yanked the phone out of her hands, practically punched in the letters, and snapped, “I wrote, ‘Good show tonight.’ Happy?”

She intentionally scraped the bottom of the bowl with her fork, happily noting Connor’s full-body shiver in response. “I’m pretty pleased with myself, yeah.”

“Oh What a Circus” ended in a flourish, and Connor suppressed a smile as E took over.

“S-sorry if I’m st-st-stuttering m-more than…I just found out that p-people are actually l-l-listening to my show, and that isn’t just a eu…euphemism for my m-mom this time. I’m really, really glad you’re enjoying the show, um—let me f-find it—ProCon. Let me know if th-there’s anything you want to hear, maybe?” E’s voice was vulnerable and warm, and Connor melted a little just knowing that it was directed at him.

Zoe grabbed his arm. “Request, ‘You’re the One That I Want’ from Grease.”

Connor glared at her.

* * *

 “S-so, anyway, that’s uh, ‘You’re the One That I Want’ sung by J-John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John for ProCon,” Evan said.

It was tough sometimes, running a radio show. It kind of reminded him of driving lessons, which…which hadn’t gone that well for him, honestly. He had to keep track of the timing, the songs he had played and planned to play, which systems were on-air, that he read cards from the notebook at the 10 and 50 minute marks, that he played the right spots in the right order...All while knowing that everything he was saying was being broadcast to everyone in a 30-mile radius. It was kind of terrifying, especially now that he knew that someone…ProCon…was listening.

The door smacked open, and Jared leaned into Evan’s personal space to speak into the microphone. “Yo.”

“Jared, g-get out. My t-timing’s gonna be all off,” Evan said, painfully aware of the fact that this was all on air. “Why are you even…? You shouldn’t even be in here.”

Jared pressed the Microphone 2 button and slid into the co-host’s chair. “I’m sharing the good news, buddy. My show is back on.”

“E-even though you were caught mid-show with—”

“FCC guidelines,” Jared said quickly.

Evan immediately cut off. “…Right. Yeah. I g-guess my viewe…listeners probably don’t want to hear about your s-sex life, anyway. Um, wh-while I kick him out, here are a couple more songs: Great Big Stuff from Dirty Rotten Scoundrels—”

“Also about my sex life,” Jared interjected.

“—And I’m g-gonna change the next one to ‘Move’ by Jennifer Holliday.”

Evan turned off their microphones. “S-seriously? I’m t-trying to focus here. I don’t even know what songs I’m playing next!”

Jared snorted. “Don’t you put together a playlist for every show?”

“Yeah, but I change my mind a lot. A-anyway, you weren’t invited.”

“Dude, if I waited to be _invited_ to things, would I have ever gotten the chance to become the Chugger King of Blackbury University? I think not.”

Evan made an irritated sound, then glanced down at his phone. “Oh.”

There was a new tweet from ProCon. “Spill all the dirty deets about Jared here? Twitter wants to know.”

Evan huffed out a laugh, and Jared twisted to read it, too. He didn’t comment, which Evan probably should have known would mean trouble once the microphone came on.

“So,” Jared said as soon as Evan had backsold the songs, “Evan just got a tweet from his boyfriend. He’s blushing like a schoolgirl—the naughty kind.”

“He’s n-n-not my boyfriend,” Evan quickly clarified.

“Really? Because I am preeeetty sure he just asked to sext.”

“He’s just a f-fan, Jared, and he’s probably listening.”

Jared leaned close to his microphone, purring into it. “E here wants the D. There’s a reason we call him DJ Han-Job.”

“N-nobody calls me that,” Evan said, setting up the next song on the computer, “and I don’t know if ProCon’s even a g-guy, so…”

“Everyone on the Internet’s a guy, and you’re totally gay for him!”

Evan clutched the mouse so hard that his hand started to ache. “St-stop joking about that. It’s not, it’s not funny.”

“I’m just trying to tell the truth.”

Jared always took everything too far. They had been roommates for six months, and Evan had tried just asking him to stop. He had tried. But Jared was like a dog. You needed to rub his nose in his own mess before he realized what he’d done.

Evan forgot about the microphone as he spun his chair to glare at Jared. “I’m pansexual, you j-jerk!”

Jared gaped at him, cleared his throat, and finally said. “Wait, really?”

“Y-yeah.” Evan stared at the space beneath the desk, full of tangled cords and dust bunnies.

“Huh. You know, I’m starting to think maybe the gay jokes weren’t that funny”—Jared said slowly, and then a glint entered his eye—“On the other hand…Hide yo’ kids, hide yo’ wife, hide yo’ husband, hide yo’ dog because Evan the pansexual is on the _prowl.”_

“You’re the worst.”

“We’ll let your listeners decide that.”

“Oh God.” Evan threw on a song, pale. He turned to Jared. “Did I just out myself on live radio?”

Jared leaned over the desk to pat him on the shoulder. “Dude, you spend two hours a week talking about Broadway. They knew.”

Evan fought off the urge to bolt from the chair and never come back because it was fine, it was fine, probably no one was really listening, and he didn’t use his real name. It was fine. It was fine. He was fine.

His phone buzzed, and oh God. It was starting already. He had one fan, and then Jared had to go and be himself. Now his fan was writing to tell him what a freak he was. He fumbled to check the tweet. Better to get it over with quickly, like pulling off a band aid. Nothing was as bad as the waiting and worrying and growing nausea.

He read the tweet, and a startled giggle slipped past his lips.

“What?” Jared asked.

Evan shook his head, switching on the microphone. “Y-you were just listening to ‘Always Starting O-over” sung by Idina Menzel.”

“I believe her name is Adela Dazeem.”

“I just got another tweet from ProCon, he, um”—another giggle—“He says, ‘I’m a guy. Also #JaredIsTheWorst. Think it’ll catch on?’”

“Spoiler alert: It won’t.”

“My mom just retweeted it.”

“What the hell, Mrs. H.?! Also, what is that I’m smelling”—Jared leaned into the mic, sniffing exaggeratedly—“Is that the sweet aroma of jealousy, Connie, sweetie?”

“New tweet,” Evan said. “It says, um, F you.”

“If any of you go looking for the tweet, bear in mind that Evan censored it for your gumdrop ears,” Jared said. “And F you, too, dude.”

Jared nabbed Evan’s phone before he could read ProCon’s latest tweet. He leaned his elbows on the desk and whistled. “Whelp, I definitely can’t read this one on air. Be careful, here, buddy. Every famous person’s got that one fan who wants to make a lampshade out of their skin, and yours has just confirmed that he’s got a knife.”

Evan snorted. “St-stop picking fights with my f-fans.”

“I’m not the one bringing metaphorical knives into a battle of words.”

Evan glanced at the audio board, eyes caught by the red blink of the clock. “Oh, we’re o-over time. I need to play a spot. Back with actual, um, actual music after this.”

* * *

It was a Thursday night, so Zoe knew what to expect in the brief time between coming home and going out for a little Thirsty Thursday partying. Connor was sitting on the couch, sketching and listening to showtunes. It’s not like he had a social life to begin with, but this was starting to get sad. The song petered out into silence, and after a few seconds, Connor leaned over to check that the tab on his computer was still open to the right page.

E’s voice finally stumbled out of the speakers, “…Sorry about the silence. I f-forgot to turn the mic on. Um, I found a new musical that I really like. It’s about teen suicide, which seems really, uh, popular lately. In fiction, I mean. I don’t know why. This musical, it’s dark but cool. One of the characters dies in act one, but then hangs…wait, not hangs-hangs but hangs as in _stays_ around to keep singing. This is one of those songs. The musical is Heathers, and the song is ‘The Me Inside of Me.’ But first I need to read this card.”

Connor had closed his eyes and set down his pencil, just listening to E’s voice.

Zoe slipped into a pair of heels, calling out of her open bedroom door, “He’s reading an ad about the marine biology club, Connor. Try to look a little less in love.”

“I’m not in love.”

“Let’s see,” Zoe said, tapping her chin with exaggerated thought. “This week you requested ‘Perfect for You.’ Last week was ‘Do You Love Me?’ Before that was ‘So in Love,’ ‘I Can Hear the Bells,’ ‘One Hand, One Heart,’ ‘On the Street Where You Live.’ Am I missing one?”

“Unworthy of Your Love,” Connor muttered.

“Right, the stalker song by that dude who shot Reagan. Cute.”

Connor picked up his drawing and pencil, scribbling a shadow behind one of the figures dotting a city street.

Zoe licked her finger and rubbed away a smudge on her makeup. “You know he’s not gonna catch on, right? He probably just thinks you’re a sappy romantic, which is _true,_ but not for the reasons he would think. Just ask him out like a normal person.”

“I’ve never met him,” Connor said.

Zoe came around the edge of the couch, resigning herself to this conversation. “Right. That’s what makes this so sad.”

“What if he thinks it’s creepy?”

Zoe used Connor’s shoulder for balance as she sat beside him. She spoke softly, trying to be kind. “Connor…You get all dreamy every time he speaks, and you’re Twitter besties with his mom. It _is_ creepy.”

“Thanks.”

Zoe squeezed his shoulder. “Look, if he turns you down, we’ll eat ice cream and watch Sharknado and write mean things about him in public restrooms. But at least you can stop all this pining.”

“…I’ll think about it.”

Zoe stood up, grabbing her purse from the table. “I’m gonna call the station and ask him out _for_ you.”

Connor shot her a death glare, but she had gotten used to those _years_ ago when it was his default expression. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

“I dunno,” Zoe said as she strode out the door. “I’m pretty daring.”

* * *

 Zoe was sitting in her 8 a.m. Biology class, contemplating the best wording to use when she called in to E’s show.

_I’m Zoe Murphy, and I’m ProCon’s sister._

_Hi, I’m Zoe. Are we on air right now? Can we be?_

_You have a secret admirer. Call him at—_

She zoned back into class just in time to hear the professor say, “Surely one of you has an idea.”

Professor Bailey was getting the desperate look she’d come to associate with nervous professors teaching drowsy morning lecture halls. Usually she would give him a pity response, but she hadn’t heard the question.

“Evan,” Professor Bailey continued after a long pause. “Perhaps you have a guess?”

A fidgeting brunette in a crumpled polo stuttered out, “It, um, has to do with the chlorophyll—is that the right way to say it, am I pronouncing it…? I, I mean, it’s green and then it drains out to conserve energy or, or…”

“That’s half right,” Professor Bailey began as Zoe turned around to gape at the blushing boy sitting four rows behind her. Connor’s favorite DJ had been in her class three mornings a week for half the spring semester, and he hadn’t said a freaking _word_ before that day.

Evan almost slipped away in the after-class rush, but Zoe had sharp elbows and a mission. Once she had maneuvered herself next to him, she said, “You have a radio show, right?”

Evan looked at her with caught-in-a-bear-trap horror. He stopped for a moment, then felt someone bump into him and bolted forward again. “I, um, I do?”

Zoe smiled and pretended that this was a normal, friendly conversation. The guy was painfully awkward, but apparently Connor was into that. “I recognized your voice. I listen to your show sometimes. It’s cool.”

“Th-th…” Evan, not trusting his voice, nodded.

Continuing this one-sided conversation seemed kind of cruel. Zoe forged ahead anyway. “My brother’s a big fan. I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

Evan forced sound past his closed-up throat. “O-oh. I’m not sure if—”

Zoe used every inch of her WASP upbringing to cheerfully ignore Evan’s obvious signals of distress. “Are you free for lunch?”

Evan tried to say no. “I…y-yeah. I mean…yeah.”

“Noon okay?”

“I h-have class. S-sorry.”

“I’ve got class at one, so it’ll have to be two,” Zoe said as if it was decided, and quickly retreated before Evan could protest. “I should get to class. See you then!”

* * *

 “Since when do we eat together on campus?” Connor said as Zoe dragged him across campus, her nails digging into the sleeve of his hoodie.

“It’s the first day of the rest of our lives,” Zoe said through a gritted-teeth smile.

“Don’t you pack lunch?”

She pulled him through the dining hall’s glass doors. “I want fries.”

Connor dug in his heels and said flatly, “Where the fuck are you taking me?”

Zoe huffed. “I’m about to change your life.”

“It’s been a year. It’s time to stop quoting Hamilton all the time.” His tone was grumpy, but he was moving again.

“You were belting Burn in the shower like a week ago, you hypocrite, and we’re totally gonna choreograph the Schuyler Sisters as soon as I find a third person.”

Zoe spotted Evan sitting forlornly at an empty table, poking at a dinosaur of a cell phone. Zoe whipped out one of the seats and pushed Connor into it. She sat next to him. “Evan! How’s you Peggy Schuyler?”

Evan flinched in surprise. “I, um…My range is m-more Maria Reynolds.”

“You husband-stealing hussy,” Zoe teased.

Connor stared at her, his breaths slowing as he tried not to get angry. “You didn’t.”

Zoe waved her hand at Evan. “Ta-dah!”

Connor glanced at Evan, who looked absolutely lost and was actually sort of cute. Fuck. _Fuck._

Evan _felt_ absolutely lost. “Ta-dah?”

Zoe gestured between them. “Evan, meet ProCon. Connor, meet E. This is a thing now.”

“Joy,” Connor said flatly.

Zoe winked at Evan. “I know he _seems_ pissed off, but I promise you, he’s ecstatic.”

Connor stared at Evan. Evan stared at Connor. Zoe’s eyes darted between them like she was watching a tennis match. Finally, she spoke very slowly. “You two like musicals. You can build a conversation out of this. Connor, you start.”

“…Have you seen any musicals in person?” Connor said.

“N-not really? Um, I saw Wicked when I was a k-kid. I mostly watch Youtube videos, and I try not to do that b-b-because I don’t think it’s really _fair_ for people to be taping the shows. But musicals are expensive.”

“Live entertainment is inherently classist. It’s somewhat justified, yeah, but also...”

Connor hadn’t even made it one minute before launching into one of his rants. It could be worse, Zoe thought a few minutes later. He had made it all the way to complaining about online ticket websites and their scalping of the common man without brandishing a butter knife at anyone. To be fair, Connor had only done that because Dad had kept calling him a communist, and Thanksgiving always did set their family on edge.

Evan wasn’t speaking much—what would he _say?_ —but he watched Connor with absolute fascination. Connor occasionally prompted a response, looking at Evan expectantly, and the DJ obediently stuttered out a few words. Zoe slipped away in the middle of this, confident that neither of them would notice.

“M-maybe you should have a show,” Evan said.

Connor paused mid-rant. “What?”

“I, I just mean…You seem really articulate and confident, and you h-have a lot of ideas. You’d be good on, on-air. Maybe you could t-talk about politics?”

Connor shook his head. “Nah, it would stress me out too much—not being able to curse without some bullshit fine, knowing that everything I say’s gonna be recorded. I couldn’t do it. Good on you for putting yourself out there every week, though. I admire that.”

Evan felt a blush warm his cheeks, and he reminded himself to be brave, be brave, not give up before he’d tried. He spoke in a single rush of breath. “Doyoumaybewannagrabacoffeesometime?”

“Fuck yes,” Connor said.

They exchanged smiles and numbers, promising to meet up the following day. Another date quickly followed, then a kiss. During his next Thursday night show, Evan played nothing but love songs.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to give Evan a college radio show for this fic because, hey, write what you know. I decided to make it Broadway because irony (and y’know, write what you know). The long story short here is that I sort of just gave Evan my radio show with a sliiiiiiightly cheesier name. And that show is coming back in September, so let me know if you want a link to my Mixcloud, yeah? 
> 
> Every on-air mistake that Evan makes is something I’ve done…Except I failed to include the time that I accidentally erased all of my queued music and had to frantically ramble into the mic until I could bring up something new.


End file.
